Hawthorn & Ash #106

Welcome to this week’s installment of many micro stories, ranging in length from 100 words to 500 words.

With each story we hope to deliver a little whimsy into the lives of our readers.

THE TRANSFORMATION

One sings unintelligible words to an unknown melody.

One stirs the cauldron.

And one dances around her sisters in wild pirouettes to an ever faster beat.

 

The situation is exactly what you would expect at the beginning of a fairy tale. But this is no fairy tale. These witches go to my class; they probably found the book in the hands of the first one at the flea market. Actually, they invited me to cocktail night. But I wouldn’t willingly drink this concoction, the smell of which bites my nose, even without the crazy dancing and the spells. But now that I’m sitting in an old armchair with my arms and legs tied, I probably won’t have that choice.

Until a few minutes ago, I was talking at them incessantly, but the witches, who were just normal girls, don’t listen. They seem to have danced and sung themselves into a kind of trance. Their stare reminds me a little of the dancers at the disco I sometimes go to when my parents allow it.

“Cats are great,” one of them said at the very beginning, before they persuaded me to try out the comfy recliner, lie back in it and close my eyes. So it was a cat. I’m actually allergic to cats, but they found that even funnier.

They are already singing the last verse, stirring one last time, finishing the dance: the potion is ready. I keep my mouth firmly shut as they approach with the steaming ladle. But after one of them pulls the glowing poker out of the fire, I no longer resist. Part of me still hopes that the magic is less real than the glowing iron.

As I take a sip of the hot, smelly brew, the three of them sit down around me and stare at me. Their eyes look normal again, curious and perhaps a little scared, as if they are slowly beginning to understand. But that doesn’t help me anymore.

The hot potion bubbles in my stomach and the heat begins to spread, slowly but steadily. Where I was tugging at my bonds until a moment ago, I feel the change first. My skin seems to soften, becoming almost liquid, to let the extra hair through. I’m not in pain yet, my arms and legs no longer belong to me. I hope it will stay that way.

The others only notice when the change reaches my bare hands. I don’t see the expected triumph on their faces. They almost seem sorry. But now it’s too late. All we can do now is wait.

If you enjoyed this story you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash 2023 anthology.

AVAILABLE HERE!